"I go with my husband," said Mary, simply, looking straight upon him with her frank, dark eyes.

"Then remember this," replied the Spaniard, very gravely, "if at any time--and so Allah wills--I can serve you with wit, or sword, or life, remember I am Richard Longsword's brother, and, therefore, your own.

What I said at Palermo, I say once more. And who is so wise that he will say: 'Musa the Moslem shall never again give succor to Mary, the Star of the Christians'?"

"_Hei_," cried Mary, trying to laugh, a little tearfully, "your face is sad as though you saw me in the clutch--" she was about to say, "of Iftikhar," but the shadow of the memory of that scene at Palermo, when the emir's mad breath smote her cheek, pa.s.sed before her mind, and she was silent.

"Sweet lady," answered the Spaniard, smiling, yet after his melancholy way, "I have scant belief in omens. Men say I am reckless in danger, as though tempting Allah to write my name in the book of doom. Listen: when I was young my father had the astrologers of the king of Seville's court cast my horoscope. And they came to him, saying: 'Lord, your son will be a great cavalier; he shall escape a thousand perils; a thousand enemies shall seek his life; he shall mock them all. Nevertheless he shall perish, and that because of the pa.s.sion for a maid, whose beauty shall outrun praise by the poet Nawas, whose loveliness shall surpa.s.s the houris of Paradise; yet even she in her guilelessness shall undo him.'"

"But you distrust prophecies!" exclaimed the Greek, blushing.

"Even so," continued the Andalusian, stroking his beard; "yet see. If it be true as the astrologers say, I may run to myriad dangers and stand scatheless; for where is the maid who shall put madness in me saving you," with a soft smile; "and are you not my sister, in whose love for my brother I joy?"

"You speak riddles," said Mary, this time casting down her eyes.

"Riddles? There is little profit in the unweaving. Perhaps in Egypt, in that warm, enchanted Nile country, in some genii-haunted island of the great river where the cataract foams, and the sun makes rainbow ever on the mist,--who knows but that I may find my temptress--my destruction!"

"Ah!" cried Richard, laughing now, "she must indeed be more than human fair, for I think no mortal maid will stir the heart of Musa, son of Abdallah, if--" But he paused, and his eyes were on Mary, who clapped her hand upon his lips. Musa was humming gently a weird Spanish song, then laughed in turn in pure merriment. "See, we almost draw swords, because I will not confess myself covetous of Richard's bride!"

"Silence, or I wed neither!" came from Mary; and perforce the two made her blush no more.

Then before the sober days that awaited them came, there was the wedding. Musa was soon to take ship to Palermo, thence to Egypt; so they hastened the bridal, and Baron Hardouin gave them one which was long the talk of the country-side. Never before was the sky more blue, the air more sweet, the village church bells' pealing merrier. A hundred guests from far and near; amongst them Counts Raymond and Gaston, ridden over from Orange. A n.o.ble procession it was to the church, the _jongleurs_ leading in their brightest motley; the bride all in violet silk, gold lace and ermine at her fair throat; on her hair a great crown of roses red as her own red lips; behind pranced Rollo, bearing his lord on an ivory saddle; then all the guests, the great ladies crowned with gold; and flowers upon every neck, upon the beasts, upon the roadway; till the throng came to the church porch, where Sebastian stood to greet them.

In his hands was a book, and on it a little silver ring. Mary stood before the priest, and Richard Longsword at her side. Her eyes were cast down--"She has neither father nor mother to give her away, ah!

dear lady," all the women were lamenting. But Baron Hardouin advanced to her, took her hand in his, laid it in the hand of the Norman; and the latter--the words coming from his very soul--repeated the great vow: "Forever I swear it, by G.o.d's strength and my strength; in health or in sickness, I promise to guard her." Then Sebastian took the ring: he said a little prayer over it, and gave to Richard; and Richard placed it on three fingers in succession of the little hand that lay in his. "In the name of the Father!"--then, "of the Son!"--then, "of the Holy Ghost!" And on that third finger the ring should abide till life was sped. As it slipped to its place, the women gave a little laugh and cry, "Good omen! it glides easily! She will be a peaceful bride!" For when the ring stuck fast, there was foreboding of shrewings and sorrow.

Then into the church--dim, awesome; two candles on the altar; a cloud of incense; a vast company still pressing about with curious whisperings. In the gray nave they knelt for the benediction; distant, mysterious as from another world, "May G.o.d bless you, and show Himself favorable unto you, your bodies and your souls." Then they received the host at the altar; and Richard, as was appointed, in the sight of a thousand, with a great crucifix above and Christ Himself in the golden dove beneath the altar, took Mary in his arms, and gave her the kiss of peace--the peace of the love that may not die in earth or in heaven.

This over, back to the castle, the trumpets making the azure quake; banners on every house; flowers rained upon the bride; her black mule treading a scarlet carpet. All shouted, "Joy, joy and long life to the n.o.ble Lady of St. Julien! Joy to the valiant Baron! Joy to both!" So there were fetes and tournaments eight days long, as the custom was.

Mary and Richard went to their wedding ma.s.s, and during the service the bride, as did all good brides, they told her, made vows to obey her lord, to call him "Monsire," or, better, the good Latin "_Domine_." But she straightway disproved this promise, and mocked the great De St. Julien to his face.

On the ninth day Musa said farewell. Richard and Mary rode forth with him for a long way, to see him well towards Ma.r.s.eilles. Neither he nor Richard spoke the word nearest their hearts,--"What will befall the soul of my brother?" But they had many things to say, of when the Crusade should be over, and Moslem and Christian might be friends at least in this world. But that hour seemed very far away.

At last they came to the fork, and the two could go no farther. Musa turned to bid farewell. "Remember," said he, in his musical Spanish Arabic, "remember the mercy of Allah surpa.s.ses all human mercy. We are all in the hollow of His hand; Christian and Moslem alike in His keeping. By His will we shall meet, and naught shall sever."

"Amen!" said Richard, looking down. They had all dismounted. Without speaking, he cast his arms about Musa, and gave him a close embrace.

And when the two stood apart, the Spaniard's eyes rested on Mary, then on Longsword. The Norman smiled and nodded. "Are you not my sister?"

said Musa, simply. And he laid his hands upon her arms, and kissed her forehead, while she resisted not, nor even blushed. Only her long lashes were bright, when she answered:--

"Yes, my brother, my heart is very full. I cannot speak all the things I feel."

Musa swung into his saddle; the men-at-arms of Hardouin who were to escort him to Ma.r.s.eilles cantered after. They saw the Spaniard climb a hillock; just at the curve he gave one sweep of the hand--was gone.

Mary laid her head on Richard's shoulder, and spoke nothing for a long time. Then they rode to La Haye together, and neither had heart for idle speech.

At the castle gate Sebastian met them, his face--so far as he ever suffered it--twisted with a smile.

"Glory to St. Raphael! The unbeliever is departed!"

"Musa is gone," answered Richard, soberly.

"Praises to G.o.d! the devil hath reclaimed his own! the lake of unquenchable fire--"

But he spoke no more. Richard had knotted his fist and with one buffet felled the priest, so that he did not speak for a good while; and when he did, Mary observed that never by word or deed did he recall the Spaniard.

CHAPTER XXIII

HOW IFTIKHAR'S MESSENGER RETURNED

It was the twelfth day of the sacred month Ramadan, in the year of the flight of the Prophet four hundred and ninety,--according to the Christian reckoning in the month of August, one thousand and ninety-six,--that Iftikhar Eddauleh sat over his sherbet in the palace El Halebah, which is by the Syrian city of Aleppo. Now good Moslems were not presumed to enjoy food or drink from rise to set of sun during the sacred month, therefore the grand prior of the Ismaelians sat shaded on the _liwan_, a raised hall opening off the great court of the palace. Here, with the door covered by Indian tapestries, and with silken carpets of Kerman deadening the footfalls of each soft-stepping Persian slave, the great man could lie upon his purple couch, and let his eye rove from the bright, inlaid stones of the alabaster walls to the ceiling beams of gilded teak. Without the sun beat hot, the parching south wind from the desert swept sand-dust in the eyes of man and beast; but within all was cool, darkened, fragrant with frankincense from the smouldering brazier.

Iftikhar was in that mood of sleepy indolence to which men wonted to a life of restless action are often p.r.o.ne. He was clad only in a loose under-mantle of green cotton; and while he dozed a dark-eyed maid of Dekkan was bathing his feet with perfumed water from a porcelain basin. A second maid stood by the couch, and often, as the master languidly held out his cup, refilled it with the sweet rose sherbet from a bra.s.s cooler of snow. Iftikhar drank again, and again, speaking not a word; till at last the first Hindoo, having borne away the bowl, stood at his head with a great fan of bright feathers. So far as speech or expression was in question, his ministers might have been moving statues, so noiseless, so mechanical, was every action.

Presently Iftikhar began communing with himself, as was his wont, half aloud. "One year in Syria; _wallah!_ truly if prosperity is not my destiny, all the jinns deceive. I have been to Alamont, the 'Vulture's Nest,' have seen Ha.s.san ben-Sabah, Lord of the Ismaelians, and all the 'devoted' have been bidden to obey my word as they would the 'Cid of the Mountain.' At my nod ten thousand daggers flash, ten thousand riders go forth. Let emir or sultan offend:--he lies down on his bed, his memlouks about; he awakes--in paradise; for in all Islam who may escape our daggers? _Mashallah!_--let others boast; what may not I, Iftikhar, accomplish? I, who was left a foundling in the great Cairo mosque El-Azhar, and was reared by the compa.s.sionate Imam Abdul Aziz?

Power, riches, glory--there shall be no bound to my fortune!"

The Egyptian leaped up and began to pace the floor.

"Much yet to do," ran he on; "I have Ha.s.san Sabah's pledge that I shall be his successor. Every barrier must be plucked down betwixt the Ismaelians and empire over all Islam, such as Harun or Mansur never held. 'All is permitted, naught feared,'--such is our watchword, taught the initiated at the grand lodge in Cairo. Let him who stands in our way be snuffed out like a rushlight,--Barkyarok the arch-sultan, the Bagdad kalif, who is Barkyarok's puppet--all--all!"

As the Egyptian spoke, a huge negro, shining with great earrings, and, save for a red cincture, clothed only in his ebony, glided from behind the curtained door. In his hand was a naked cimeter of startling length. Never a word he said, but only pointed with his weapon to the pa.s.sage, then salaamed.

"The dervish Kerbogha?" asked Iftikhar, stopping his pacings.

The negro, who was a mute, only bowed almost to the floor.

"Bid him enter." The giant salaamed a third time, and was gone. An instant later a stranger entered. His robe was spotless white, but the shoes and belt were red. He was a man just in the turn of life, with a powerful military frame, the nose of a hawk, and a hawk's keen eye; a grizzled beard, very thick, that swept his breast; his head crowned with a peaked felt hat, also white. The sun had long since tanned his skin to a rich bronze; there were scars on cheeks, forehead, hands. He strode with the springing step of one who loved hardship for hardship's sake; and no second glance was needed to tell that power and command were second nature.

Iftikhar bowed very ceremoniously, thrusting one hand in his bosom, and the stranger doing the like, while the formula was exchanged: "Peace be on you." "On you be peace, and the mercy of Allah and His blessings."

Then the Egyptian bade the Hindoos bring new water and sherbet. The stranger flung himself upon the divan, and words flew fast.

"You have been to Antioch?" asked Iftikhar.

"I have," replied Kerbogha,--for such was the new comer's name.

"Yaghi-Sian is willing to link hands with us. His pride has been humbled mightily since he attacked your friend Redouan, lord of Aleppo, and was defeated. Now he sees that only by joining the Ismaelians can he hope for success."

"And you promised--?"

"That if the plans of Ha.s.san Sabah fail not, we shall have the puppet kalif, Mustazhir, and his master, the arch-sultan Barkyarok, at our mercy in two years. Then each prince who is of our party shall divide the spoils, and rule every one in his own land, sending some tribute to Alamont in sign of fealty to the order. I have engaged, you will warn Redouan, that Yaghi-Sian is not to be attacked; and if he refuse, let him remember how our daggers found Nizam ul-Mulk, the great vizier. To-day I am at Aleppo, to-morrow I go to Mosul, thence to Alamont to tell my tale to Ha.s.san Sabah."

Whereupon Iftikhar replied, while the slaves bathed Kerbogha's feet:--

"I see all goes well. The Seljouk power declines since the death of Malek Shah. Yet Barkyarok is not to be despised; he can still summon the Turkish hordes. The 'devoted' cannot do all. The dagger throws down many thrones, raises none. To strike kalif and sultan we need more--an army--myriads; how gather it? A whisper at Ispahan, 'Kerbogha is of the Ismaelians; he moves disguised as a dervish to seduce the emirs.' How long then does the arch-sultan delay to send the bowstring?"

Kerbogha set down his sherbet cup and laughed dryly.